


How to Keep a Wayward Star

by wordcraze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:34:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcraze/pseuds/wordcraze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn makes a deal with the devil. But when the devil himself is summoned, he’s not exactly what Zayn expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Keep a Wayward Star

> " _The Devil is real and he’s not some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favorite_."

Zayn had always been told that his art, no matter how brilliant it was, would never pay his bills. He understands this, and is aware that it's rare for an artist to make it big, and most of them rake in millions only after they die. He isn't too interested in not being able to see the fruit of his hard work, so he opts for more unorthodox means to achieve success. 

This isn't quite what he expected. Zayn thought the devil would arrive in flames, with horns, and red eyes. When he had summoned evil (using an old spell book he purchased at a shop down the street), he braced himself for something horrifying, but instead, he finds himself face to face with a boy. 

"You called?" the boy smiles, and Zayn immediately sees the darkness lurking beneath the charm, and how the boy's lips curl up into a snarl. 

Zayn doesn't say anything. He didn't even think this would work, but having a boy materialize in front of him is the only proof he needs of the legitimacy of this spell. What can he say? How does he even begin to explain and ask for what he wants? 

"Don't tell me," the boy holds up a finger, and pauses. "I've made enough deals with your kind to know what you're about to ask for." He steps closer to Zayn, then he starts to circle him. "Tattoos and tired eyes. You want to be Michelangelo. Monet. Picasso. Van Gogh. You know I propositioned all of them? It really would have been a massive deal, taking those souls downstairs. What an impression I would make on my minions. But... alas, they all said no. Drove Van Gogh crazy, that decision. And, well, you know how that ended." 

Zayn remains quiet. He is overwhelmed by what's happening, and he feels faint due to the impossible suddenly becoming possible. But then again, what did he expect when dabbling with the dark arts? 

"Okay..." Zayn inhales deeply. "I'm not sure how to go about this. I've never done--" 

"You're a virgin?" the boy smirks. "When it comes to making deals with the devil, I mean. Which you obviously are since once you make a deal, you can't make a second one. I can see your bright, shining, lovely soul." 

"So how do I--" 

"Let me do all the hard work, and don't even worry about the tiny, trivial details. I'll give you what you want. The works. Lavish and luxurious living, skyrocketing success, and everything your little heart desires. In return, you give me something in about... let's say, ten years." 

"What will happen in ten years." 

The boy laughs, and it sounds like music, like the chime of bells, "Details, details. It'll be nothing you'll miss, I assure you." He holds out a hand. "Do we have a deal?" 

The perfect life. No more struggling with his art, and the satisfaction of proving everyone wrong. Riches, success, and everything he deserves. Ten years of ideal living is better than twenty years of failure. 

Zayn shakes the boy's hand. "Deal." 

\- - - 

His name is Harry. At least that's what he calls himself for now. "Lucifer" or "Satan" is not exactly how Zayn wants to address him, and it's strange enough that he's in such close proximity with mostly everyone's idea of pure evil. He isn't sure how to talk to him, or how to act around him, and it's an uncomfortable situation, but he has no choice. 

Zayn is shocked with how quickly his success takes off. He sells his work effortlessly, and he is bombarded with commissions from the rich and powerful. He holds his first art gallery, and its hailed as brilliant and revolutionary by critics, and it's just so much for Zayn to take in all at once. But accepts it happily with open arms as he transitions into his new life. 

He is smoking on the balcony of his new, large apartment, staring down at the bustling street, recalling when he had been just a face in the crowd, looking up at this building and wishing he had lived here. It seems so long ago, like a bad dream. 

"Having fun?" 

Zayn is startled, and nearly falls off his seat. He quickly turns to see the source of the voice, and there's Harry, sitting on the railing with his legs dangling over the side. 

"Oi! Get down, you'll hurt yourself," Zayn tosses his cigarette, and stands up, reaching for him. 

Harry laughs, "Zayn, I'm the devil. Lucifer. Cast down from Heaven to spend an eternity in Hell. I don't think a little fall is going to kill me. But if it'll calm you..." he swings his legs over the side, and hops down from the railing. "Better?" 

Zayn nods, and he relaxes. "What are you doing here?" 

"Just checking up on my favorite soul. But judging by the size of this apartment, you're doing quite well," Harry looks down at the burning cigarette on the ground, and he steps on it. "Disgusting things. These will kill you." 

"The devil disapproves of cigarettes? That's strange." 

Harry chuckles, "On contrary to popular belief, I don't encourage people to do bad things. It's a misconception, and I'm really quite offended by it." 

"Then what is it that you do?" 

"I merely open their eyes to better options. A better life. I allow them to give into what they _want_ , rather than allowing themselves to settle for mediocrity," something in Harry's eyes change, and he almost looks sad. "That's the only thing I was guilty for." 

Zayn wants to ask, but he doesn't. He's not sure how many people have questioned the devil, and tried to peel back the layers, but one thing for certain is that it doesn't ever end well. 

Harry's eyes shift back to its usual sharpness, cunning, and mischievous. "Well, this was a lovely visit, but I've other things to attend to. Shall we rendezvous tomorrow?" 

But before Zayn can respond, Harry snaps his fingers, and disappears. 

\- - - 

Harry visits every day, and he has a talent of popping up during the most inopportune moments. He would appear just as Zayn is getting out of the shower, as he's in the middle of video conferences with clients (during which Harry would make faces at him behind the laptop), or while he's in deep concentration with his work. It's almost like Harry does this on purpose. 

"Is it possible for you to call ahead like a normal person?" Zayn struggles to put on some pants, as Harry had suddenly popped up while he was getting dressed. 

"Call?" Harry makes a face like this was a ridiculous thing to consider. "On one of those iPhone things? Silly human contraption, that is. No thank you." 

Zayn sighs, and smooths down his hair before leaving the bedroom. 

"Where are we going?" Harry asks. 

"The studio," Zayn grabs a croissant as he passes the kitchen, then he rushes out the door, with Harry trailing behind him. 

Harry swipes the croissant from Zayn's mouth, and takes a bite, "It's my day off, so I'll hang out with you." 

"Satan has days off?" 

Harry just laughs. 

They arrive at the studio, and Zayn has to make sure not to talk to Harry, since to other people, it'll just look like he's talking to himself. It's a bit inconvenient to have the only person he talks to be invisible to everyone else. But it doesn't stop Harry from talking his ear off. 

"What are you painting today? Are you going to draw that one particularly creepy request of that socialite's dog in a tutu? I advise you not to drink more than two cups of coffee today, since I know you won't be able to sleep tonight. And maybe you shouldn't listen to shitty dubstep while you work, that stuff gives me a headache. I can sing a tune if you'd like. I have the voice of an angel--" 

"Harry," Zayn mutters under his breath. "Shut up." 

Harry flops down on the couch, and poses, "Draw me like one of your French girls." 

The boy is impossible to ignore, but Zayn has spent enough time with Harry to master the art of not giving him attention when he gets like this. It really is the most bizarre situation, and it's his own fault for making the deal. But he didn't know the package came with an annoying, and talkative King of Hell. 

"Really though, what are you painting today?" 

Zayn sets up a canvas, painted with a shimmering light blue background, "Not really the most appropriate topic to bring up, but I was asked to paint Heaven. At least my version of it. I was given free reign with my interpretation." 

For once, Harry is silent. Zayn cautiously peeks out from behind the painting, and he sees Harry on the couch, staring blankly into space, and Zayn wishes he can read him, but he can't. The boy's eyebrows draw together, and the muscle in his jaw twitches, then his whole face twists into an expression of pain. Zayn feels like he's spying on something personal, so he averts his eyes. 

"Heaven..." he hears Harry speak up softly. "No poet or painter, even of the highest caliber, could ever be successful in describing it. There's no human word in any language, no brush stroke, that could even come close to the radiance of Paradise." 

Zayn watches him again, bewildered at the fact that this being sitting in front of him is the _devil_ , but the way he describes Heaven is filled with such genuine love and longing, Zayn isn't sure what to make of it. 

"Maybe..." Zayn says hesitantly. "... Maybe you can help me get close. Help me do it justice." 

There is a hint of a smile on Harry's face, and he rises from the couch, grabs a stool, and takes a seat next to Zayn. He tells Zayn that Heaven is billions of little places all crammed into one, since each individual person's paradise differs from the next. But at the center of it all, a sort of 'common room' for Heaven's population, is an incredible landscape so rich and green, and full of unearthly beauty. Vast, green meadows, and white beaches with blue waves rolling across pearl-colored sand. Anyone who is lucky enough to set foot in Paradise sheds themselves of all the guilt, sadness, and anger, and they feel nothing but love, light, and happiness. The beauty of these feelings without the taint of negativity is almost as beautiful as the place itself. 

Zayn's heart aches for this place he has never seen, and will probably never see, but his heart also aches for Harry who had been ripped from his home. 

"I'm sorry," he says in a hushed voice, as he puts the finishing touches, and lowers his paintbrush. 

Harry shakes his head, "It's okay," his eyes soften as he looks over the finished painting. "It's like I never left." 

\- - - 

The habit of appearing during inconvenient moments is something that Zayn expects, so when he's settling in for bed, he's not surprised when Harry is suddenly sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"I want to talk," he says. 

Conversations starting off with 'I want to talk' are usually important, so Zayn sits up, "What's wrong?" 

"I think you have an incredibly skewed version of who I am stuck in your head. Everyone does. But I wanted to make myself clear to you. I'm not evil." 

Zayn doesn't say anything, and Harry heaves a sigh. He looks down, nervously playing with his fingers, then he slowly lifts his gaze, fixing it on Zayn. 

"I used to be an angel. Did you know that? My name, Lucifer, it means 'light-bringer.' I was also known as the 'Morning Star.' God created me to be an angel of light, the most beautiful of his army, and I was his favorite. He loved me, and therefore, my role was to forever dwell in the throne room of Heaven, to eternally be in his presence," Harry's face lights up, and his eyes are wide with awe. "That throne room... I could have never budged from that spot, and I would have been utterly content. The beauty of it is something I can't even begin to describe. But being there was an honor bestowed upon me." 

"So how did you screw up?" 

Harry glares. "I did not 'screw up' as you so nicely put it. God didn't give us free will, but then he made you. He made Man. Human beings. And he gave you the ability to choose to love him, but even as you all fought against each other, and blasphemed, and sinned, he continued to love you despite that," his eyes become dark, and his fingers tighten into fists. "It wasn't fair. I had given everything to him, and yet, we were below Man on the scale. I loved God too much, but the amount of love I felt wasn't reciprocated. He deemed my feelings as rebellion, and I was cast out of Heaven." 

Zayn's chest tightens as he sees the look on Harry's face, full of betrayal, a little guilt, and most of all, sadness. 

"And do you know the worst part about this whole thing?" Harry's voice cracks, and his eyes fill with tears. "I still love him. And I miss him. Like a dumb kid who's been away from his parent for too long." He sniffs, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "I just miss my dad." 

"Harry--" 

"No, I'm sorry, this is stupid. I run Hell for crying out loud, so why would I waste emotional energy on some absent father." 

Zayn doesn't think when he moves forward, and wraps his arms around Harry's shoulders. He tightens his grip on him even when the boy struggles, but he feels him slowly relax in his arms, then he rests his head on Zayn's shoulder, and starts to cry. Zayn gently lays him down on the bed, and Harry curls up against his chest, clinging on to his shirt. For a moment, Zayn forgets who it really is, laying in his bed, and wrapped up in his arms. He forgets the stories, and the Bible verses. Right now, he's just a boy. He's just Harry. 

\- - - 

The stiff formality between them melts away, and is replaced with comfort, which Zayn finds strange. In fact, he still finds this whole ordeal strange. By now, he knows he has signed off his soul, and in a matter of years, he will spend eternity in Hell, but he's sort of accepted it. He's not sure what to expect, but if it means still being around Harry, then perhaps it won't be so bad. 

"What's going to happen when I go to Hell?" Zayn asks. 

"What do you think? I'm going to let you burn." 

Zayn rolls his eyes when Harry laughs. 

"Hell isn't all fire, and eternal damnation," Harry says. "I've fixed it up over the years, so there isn't any torture, nor are there any demons poking at you. It's a lot like being alive, except it's not so great. There are shitty apartments where the electricity doesn't always work, no wifi, and the food is pretty bland. It's not exactly agonizing, but it's not a party either." 

"Apartments? In Hell?" 

"Well, where do you expect people to live in? I'm not a horrible leader. I wasn't raised in a barn." 

Zayn chews on his bottom lip, and he nods, "Okay. Where will I stay?" 

"With me, of course," Harry says without hesitation. "Being in charge has its perks, you know. Nice building with a huge lobby, and room service. Free of charge. It's almost like Heaven, except the view is rather dismal." 

"You'd let me stay there?" 

Harry gives him a look like he can't believe these questions, "You're important to me. I'm not going to stash you in some dirty apartment. For someone smart, you sure are a bit daft at times." He stands up angrily, and disappears from the studio. 

Zayn is left there, wondering what he has done wrong, or what he had said. He hadn't meant to question Harry, but he's right to do so especially with a future as strange and unknown as his. But it wasn't like he was obnoxious, or overly doubtful about it. He knows Harry will take care of him, but he isn't wrong to question. 

\- - - 

Harry doesn't come back the next day. Nor does he come back the day after that. It's been a week, and Zayn starts to panic, and he can't focus on his work, so he draws the only thing that can come to mind. Harry's face. It reminds him of Harry's description of Heaven, and how there isn't a single brush stroke that can come close to capturing this type of beauty. That's how he feels about Harry's face. Each line, each curve isn't good enough, and he starts over until it comes close to what he wants. It's frustrating, but he can't help his need to get this right. What if he doesn't see Harry again, and this is all he has? 

"Art problems?" 

Zayn whips his head around, and he glares when he sees Harry standing there, looking like nothing had happened. Beautiful and clueless, and it makes him so angry. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zayn snaps, throwing his pencil down. "Since you and I made that deal, you'd come see me every single day, and all of a sudden, you just... you disappear for an entire week. Don't you understand how that can fuck with a person?" 

Harry doesn't respond right away, and he just stands there, staring at Zayn, like he's trying to carefully choose his words. "I'm afraid we've run into an issue." 

"Oh yeah? More of an issue than you acting like you care, but disappearing without saying anything." 

"Yes, Zayn. More of an issue than that," Harry shakes his head and sighs, but his eyes wander over to what Zayn had been working on. "What's that?" 

Zayn follows Harry's gaze, and he quickly puts a hand over it. "Nothing." 

"Oh, come now," Harry walks over to him, takes a hold of his wrist, and moves his hand to reveal a drawing of his own face ([x](http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2013/015/2/b/harry_styles_by_dariemkova-d5rkqc5.jpg)). He stares down at it, and runs a finger over the features, closely resembling his own, but the best part is that this is how Zayn sees him. Not frightening or evil, not how the rest of the world depicts him. Just a normal boy. 

"It's... it's just-- don't even--" Zayn stammers before picking up the notebook, hugging it close to his chest. "It's just something I did out of boredom. It's not even-- just ignore it." 

Harry bites his bottom lip, then he reaches out, and takes the notebook from Zayn to look at the drawing again. "That's the problem. I can't ignore it. I can't ignore any of this," he hands the notebook back to Zayn. "You've put me in a very interesting predicament, and I can't see a way around it." 

"What are you talking about?" 

Harry takes a step back, "I'm sorry for not giving you a heads up, so I won't make that mistake this time," he pauses, looking a little pained. "I'll be going away for a while." 

"A while," Zayn repeats. "A while? How long is a while?" 

There's another pause, and a tentative answer. "Forever." 

The silence is deafening, and the anger radiating from Zayn is palpable, "Forever?" his voice is dangerously low, and raspy. "We had a deal. We had a fucking DEAL!" 

Harry lets out a humorless laugh, "What a rare creature you are. You're the only one who wants to go through with a deal with the devil." 

"We were supposed to be together!" 

"And that's the fucking problem, isn't it?!" Harry raises his voice, despite trying to keep calm. "Us being together, living happily ever after in Hell. You're better than that, and you shouldn't have to rot down there with me. I was supposed to be full of light, and spend eternity in Paradise, and if I can't have that, then you can. You can be... you can be everything I couldn't. Zayn, you're full of light, and so full of everything good, with so much promise. I can't drag you down with me. I can't." 

Zayn grips on to Harry's shirt, becoming desperate, "But I want to go with you. You can't just do this to me. You can't--" 

Harry presses a finger to Zayn's lips, silencing him. He smiles but his eyes are dull and sad. "Yes, I can. And I will. Because for the first time, I care about someone more than I care about myself, and that is a big, big thing. A big thing, Zayn. And when a big thing hits, you can't ignore it." 

"What are you trying to--" 

"I love you. And don't say anything. Please don't. I don't want to have to live with 'what ifs' if you do love me back, and I don't want to go through eternity feeling humiliated if you don't. So just don't say anything. But I do love you, and maybe that'll make God proud, that I finally love one of his precious creations more than I love myself," Harry chuckles lightly. "What an ironic twist of events." 

Zayn does as he's told, and he doesn't say anything, but he does start to cry. The tears flow freely, and he's unable to stop them no matter how hard he tries, but it's way past the point of covering them up. Harry brushes the tears away with his fingertips, and he leans in. 

"Take care of that soul," he whispers before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. A second later, he disappears. 

When Zayn opens his eyes, he wonders why his cheeks are damp with tears. He doesn't remember crying, and he also doesn't remember what he's doing here. He has work to do, another gallery to prepare for. Maybe he had fallen asleep standing up? He looks down at the notebook in his hands, and he sees a drawing of a boy. Was this his work? He doesn't remember working on this, though the boy is vaguely familiar, like from a dream. Zayn groans and rubs his forehead, not knowing what the hell is going on, but he decides to ignore it, and move forward with his work. 

He tosses the notebook on his messy desk where it will get lost, and eventually be forgotten with the rest of his rejected sketches. 

\- - - 

Five years later, and Zayn is still shocked at how much his luck had changed. He doesn't understand how he went from a starving artist, to someone in constant demand. It's the most bizarre thing, and it's like the switch happened overnight, which he can't really explain, but he doesn't dare question it. 

He's at one of his art galleries, and his paintings are nearly sold out, save for one: a painting of a beach with clear waves rolling over pure white sand. Zayn has a thing for painting beautiful places, flawless landscapes, and critics often say that his work is a 'glimpse into heaven.' 

Zayn sees a boy looking at the last available painting, so he approaches him, and stands by his side. 

"This one is special to me," Zayn says. "I'm not sure what it is, but the thought of paradise just resonates with me. I don't really know why." 

The boy turns to look at him, curls framing his dimpled face, and his green eyes sparkling as he smiles, "I might have an idea."


End file.
